September 25th, 26th, 27th, & 28th

September 28th, 2010 -- "Frog Soup"

"This is my favorite table, hands down - hands down, lady. Know what I'm saying? They cook the food over there, see? See that? They come through that door with the tray, and I don't even have to wait long for it. They come through the door and they bring the tray and I'm just happy.

It's what I got going for me, you know?

Take the place down the street, right? You go to a place like that and you wait, what, forty minutes? You wait all that time and you get crap. You get less than crap. You order chicken and they bring you more dinner rolls with shit gravy on them. You order clam chowder and you get shark's blood. You want a steak? Get the hell out. 'Get the hell out, right now,' is what they'd say; and they wouldn't have to say that shit to me. I'd be out before they could kill the damn cat.

I'm good with this. They know me here. This is good.

You know what you want?"


September 27th, 2010 -- "Dream Sand"

The dream is usually the same.


September 26th, 2010 -- "Hank"

The cave's entrance had barely allowed for the many slabs of crude iron strapped to his back and arms.

Hank did not mind. Many dragons. Little time.


September 26th, 2010 -- "Cobwebs"

He stood in the relative dim of the half busted vanity mirror and stared. The cobwebs by the ceiling , long since abandoned by their previous inhabitants and covered by time in gray and stagnant particles, had taken to waving lightly in the air like ghost cloth.

It had been years, he thought, since he had stopped off after work to do anything. Visit a friend. Watch a movie. His life hadn't become work, but it hadn't become anything else, either. His days were filled with moments like these, these times of pause and bland wonderment. Look at the dust collected in sheets like lint. Watch the food in the fridge. Make sure that dish is clean. Grocery shop and like it.

The neon sign out in the night by his window flickered with a zapping sound in the hot night, and George felt a sweaty calm as he made his way through the room to his chair. He slapped the top of the tv on the way by to shoo the gremlins, a procedure that he had more faith in than God.

He grabbed the remote. Eight o'clock.


No comments: